


This Little Piggy

by gabapple



Series: NLAverse [18]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A little spicy, Angst and Fluff, Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Foot Massage, Happy Ending, I know it, Idiots in Love, M/M, NLA Canon, Post-Series, Real World Consequences, Sexual Tension, THE FOOT THING, We're all Okay, Yuuri "Sweet Feet" Katsuki, a soft foot thing, a sweet foot thing, everything is going to be okay, for all of us, guys they are okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 21:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17149778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabapple/pseuds/gabapple
Summary: Now living in Russia, Viktor and Yuuri have settled into a comfortable routine together, despite having to keep their relationship a secret from the majority of the world. People will believe what they want to believe, though, and it's safer to let them. That doesn't mean that it isn't tough... especially in moments when Yuuri is hurting. Or showing his eros. Or keeping secrets. But they make it work. They always make it work. That's life. That's love. And they're in it for the long haul.





	This Little Piggy

**Author's Note:**

> At last, the long-awaited foot thing collaboration between myself and the great Harumaki ([@andykuzuki](https://twitter.com/andykuzuki)), which started as a joke and turned into this piece that I am so proud of. It was extremely difficult to write, and getting the pieces together in such a busy year was nothing short of a Vikmas Miracle, but what better for Viktor's birthday and to celebrate the NLAversary?! :) 
> 
> Like NLA- mine and Mamo's Yuri on Ice longfic -this story is technically canon compliant, but also takes place in our world... so please tread carefully, as prejudice is an important part of our version's backdrop, but not the main focus. Andy's adorable drawings are the perfect companions to that end, helping to balance the bitter sweet as our heroes navigate life and love together in hope. 
> 
> Many thanks to Andy for pushing me to do this project and for her beautiful artwork... and to Mamo for beta and holding my hand through the whole process, as well as all of those who helped with all of my hundreds of questions to try to get this story right. It's been a long time coming. :')
> 
> Happy NLAversary! Happy birthday, Viktor! Merry Vikmas! And thank you, always, for reading!!! 
> 
> ' ❤ '

It’s somewhere in Lenin Square that Viktor first notices the limp. The trip from the rink to Finlyandsky Station isn’t long, nor is the transfer from Line 6 to Line 3, but it’s enough that Yuuri’s steps become uneven and his mouth tightens into a wince. By the way he’s favoring his weight, Viktor assumes it’s his left foot that’s bothering him. Maybe his ankle, or the pad under his big toe.

“Are you all right?” Viktor frowns as he asks, but Yuuri answers back with a smile.

“Yeah! Come on or we’ll miss the train.”

Line 3 runs every fifteen minutes, but Viktor doesn’t like standing around, either, so he doesn't press.

Besides, Makkachin is waiting for them.

 

Once on board, they sit close enough that their legs touch at the knee, but far enough apart that that no attention is drawn to them. Their hands are occupied not with each other’s, but decidedly elsewhere for the seventeen minutes that it takes to reach their designated station. It's _almost_ as if they're not a gay couple going home to their shared bed at all; just a coach and student that happen to share an apartment out of convenience for the upcoming competitive figure skating season.

This is the narrative that they want the world to believe. The one that will keep them safe.

Yuuri is better at acting the part, and Viktor has never been terribly convincing, but as long as they play nice, there seems to be room for silent champions in Russia.

As usual, Yuuri has his phone while Viktor is left to his thoughts. These wander, along with his gaze, past the plastered advertisements to the other riders- some students, others tourists -but he never lets them rest for long. Eye contact draws unwanted attention, and the dark shades that he wears only offer so much of a buffer.

Before Yuuri, Viktor brought books to keep occupied on his trips, appreciating the tactile feeling of fibers in the paper pages beneath his fingertips. Makkachin came with him more often then, too. With one hand in his wooly fur and the other in a vice grip on a paperback, he had plenty of pleasant distractions to pass the time.

Now, things have changed; his commute is shorter with the recent expansion of the metro lines, and his companion is one that he’s not supposed to touch in public. Yuuri scrolls through feeds in characters that Viktor can’t even begin to understand with an expression so passive and mute that he blends in with the commuting locals, foreign or not.

Viktor makes a mental note to bring a book next time, but it comes with the guilt of knowing that he also needs to work on the upcoming season. With so much to live up to after the last, the wolves will be more eager than ever to fight for the podium. Even if his thoughts weren’t so distracted, he could be putting his time to much better use. Twenty minutes of dedicated thinking could add up, especially since Yuuri has a knack for distracting him at home...

Next to him, Yuuri hisses under his breath when he shifts, dragging his sneakers under his seat to make extra room for passengers as they exit the train. After a quick glance at the new arrivals, Yuuri’s eyes return to the screen in his hands, the discomfort evidently forgotten.

Maybe it doesn’t bother him, but it bothers Viktor.

It’s the new boots, he’s sure.

After such an intense competitive year, it’s really no surprise that Yuuri’s skates had to be retired. He’s worked hard, and if the gold medals weren’t proof enough of this, the wear and tear on the last of the leather certainly is. New boots and blades always means an adjustment period to break them in, which comes with an array of bruises and blisters, even with careful fitting.

The treatment is simple, of course. Viktor’s been through this at least a thousand times before- and he’s something of an expert in feet -but it’s entirely dependent on patient compliance, and this is a constant battle where Yuuri is concerned.

Viktor thinks to propose stopping on the way home for moleskin in case they’re out- even though he knows they’re not - but as soon as he opens his mouth, he’s stopped by a _look_ from Yuuri.

Yuuri has many looks, but this is a particularly dangerous one. Just a quick glance without turning his head, eyes half closed and relaxed, smile small with a playful curl at the corner of his mouth. It makes him look sly. Crafty. A hungry little fox giving a nod to the helpless hens for the inevitable; he’s already in the coop and the dog won’t fit under that gap in the fence.

It’s too late.

Viktor can’t be saved. And he doesn’t want to be.

The look is gone in an instant, and Yuuri returns to the aggregators on his phone, leaving Viktor’s thoughts completely derailed. There’s still eight minutes left, and he spends each of them in silent, stiff torture, recalling to the finest detail _exactly_ how it feels to have Yuuri run his tongue over every inch of his burning skin. The upcoming skating season is the last thing on his mind; he wants Yuuri to eat him alive, feathers plucked or not.

It’s perfect torture, and only months of practice in keeping his body still and his hands folded _just so_ in his lap let him fantasize in secret.

Though, even if they see his torment, or recognize what the thin-lipped frown on his face means, they’ll likely just believe the other narrative that they’ve constructed. Poor Viktor Nikiforov, fallen for his blissfully ignorant student with whom he has no chance. Nothing could be further from the truth, but it’s for the best: let them believe that Russia’s champion is far too professional to cross the line and ruin his reputation. He wouldn’t dare make a mockery of his heritage.

Poor fools.

 

If they only knew the truth.

 

Yuuri stretches on the platform when they arrive and doesn’t show any signs of pain until they reach the halfway point on the steps to the surface streets. He recovers from a half stumble without Viktor’s help, but Viktor reaches for him anyway until he’s shooed away. Using the railing for support, Yuuri beats him to the top and races him to the sidewalk.

Their apartment isn’t far from the station, and the doorman lets them in with a nod in greeting.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Viktor asks in the elevator. “Your foot…”

“It’s probably just a little blister. I’ll be fine.”

“I can take Makkachin myself, be right back.”

“No way. I promised him we’d run today.”

Neither of them feel right breaking a promise to Makkachin, so after they drop off their skating gear at the apartment and say their hellos to the dog, all three of them nod their thanks to the doorman again as he holds the door for them on their way out.

 

Although they have to walk to the end of the block and cross at the light to get to the park, it’s one of the main reasons Viktor chose this building as his permanent residence so many years ago. It’s a large, broad space with a manicured lawn, beautiful trees, and winding walking paths; plenty of room for a dog to really get a good run in. Not like the little scraps of grass wedged between buildings that the city calls a ‘green space.’ It’s a real park, and quiet enough in the evenings that there’s no one around to scold them for letting Makkachin run around off leash.

Viktor wouldn’t listen, anyway; Makkachin’s service vest, collar, and leash came off when Viktor Nikiforov became a national hero, and that was that.

They visit the park every day.

Makkachin trots at their side through the gate, but once Yuuri breaks into a jog, the dog lets loose and runs circles around them. His bark, loud and huffing, is blissfully happy. Viktor isn’t sure how a poodle his age has so much energy, but he’ll do anything and everything he can to keep it that way.

Poodle and fiance chase each other up ahead and tumble, rolling into a scuffle. Viktor keeps his wrestling inside- and has for several years -but it’s nice to see Makkachin pouncing after Yuuri with grass and sod churned up by his paws, even with the mud that he smears on his face. Saint Petersburg is always a little damp, especially so close to the river, but Yuuri doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just happy to have a dog to play with.

It’s the cutest thing Viktor’s ever seen, and something in him aches with a longing he doesn’t quite understand. Yuuri is his. He is Yuuri’s. They belong to one another and together and they are secure with and in this knowledge. He’s never felt so whole or balanced. Yet he wants. _Craves._

Viktor knows he can never get enough of him.

There will never be a day when that hunger ceases, when that longing dies. He will always want, and want, and want... _him._

And it hurts that he gets to spend the rest of his life indulging in the person he loves most. How did he get to be so lucky?

Viktor knows he may never understand. Just as he knows that Yuuri wonders the same thing, as crazy as it seems. Neither of them can quite believe it, but neither are willing to let go of the possibility, even in those moments of self-doubt and insecurity. They may not feel deserving, but they’re old enough to recognize that they’re also selfish enough to hold on until the reassurance comes, anxiety be damned.

They are the bouey for each other in the icy, unforgiving sea of life.

Yuuri chases after Makkachin, and Makkachin chases after Yuuri until both of them are panting. This doesn’t take long with how reckless they are, but that’s not a bad thing. How long does a good run need to be, anyway? When Viktor catches up, Yuuri’s rolling up the cuff of his pant leg and Makkachin’s rolling in the grass, snapping at the clippings that come loose in his wake.

“Ready to head back?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think Makka’s happy now.”

Viktor’s gaze drifts to Yuuri’s fingers, which rub his ankle, then dip into his shoe to rub at his heel. “And your foot?”

“My-? Oh.” It’s only Yuuri’s quick reflexes that stop his glasses from sliding off the bridge of his nose when he lifts his head to blink at the question, which Viktor suspects is his way of feigning innocence. “It’s fine, Vitya. Really.”

They have rules about prying, and Viktor’s treading dangerously close to the line. If Yuuri says he’s fine- _insists_ he’s fine -then Viktor needs to trust him. At least for the moment. Give him space. Let him decide if it’s something that needs to be discussed or not. So Viktor lets it drop with a shrug, turning his attention to the dog’s flailing paws and flopping ears. “Okay. Let’s head back. Our pup needs dinner.”

Makkachin stops rolling immediately and perks up, tongue disappearing behind the bushy whiskers. Then he’s tail wagging hard enough to nearly topple into Yuuri. Dinner’s something to be excited about, and Makka keeps everyone on schedule.

 

Later, after they’ve all been fed and the dishes have been cleared, Viktor sits on his side of the bed that he shares with Yuuri and gathers the rings from the top drawer of the night stand. Yuuri takes them from him with a kiss and slips them onto their fingers, as he does every evening.

“There,” he announces, sitting back to admire the gold in the light from the large windows that flank their corner bedroom. “What are you going to do with the rest of your evening, Vitya?”

Viktor looks up from the bands with a thoughtful hum, lips pursing. “I know what I’d _like_ to do, but I have two short programs, two free skates, and two exhibitions to finish refining, so…”

Yuuri bumps his shoulder and grins. “It’s still early, Coach.”

“That’s just the White Nights, Yuuka. It’s almost eight.”

“I meant in the season.”

“Oh.” Viktor frowns. Yuuri has a point; it’s only July. But when _he_ was competing, he already had all of his decisions made, sketches to his designer, and notes to the composer.

“One thing at a time,” comes Yuuri’s gentle chiding, coupled with a kiss to Viktor’s neck. “You’re Viktor Nikiforov! You can do _anything.”_

Though he appreciates the sentiment, Viktor knows it’s not true. Resisting Yuuri is impossible. “Mm,” he says, leaning into the affection. “And what are _you_ doing this evening?”

“You?”

Viktor knows he should have expected that answer, and as much as he wants to roll his eyes, he’s weak and smiling and giddy all the same. “ _Yuuka!_ So shameless.”

He loves it, and Yuuri knows.

There are kisses, neck to cheek to mouth, and Yuuri pulls his arms around him. Viktor nearly forgets all about everything else as Yuuri pushes him down to the mattress until Yuuri hisses, and then the absence of his lover’s weight leaves Viktor lonely on the bed.

“Yuuka?” Viktor watches from their comforter as Yuuri sits back up, pawing at his foot.

“Ittt-aah it’s… nothing…”

Instead of concern, Viktor sighs, really rolling his eyes this time. “Your foot?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest.

“No. Yes.” Yuuri frowns. “Maybe.”

“So is it a blister or a pulled tendon or something else?”

“Uh…”

Viktor pulls himself up to look. The obvious injury isn’t bad; a little cleaning and a bandage and it’ll be fine. But the way he’s rubbing at it… “Yuuka, you were trying so hard to hide it that you hurt yourself more, didn’t you?”

“Hey, you don’t need to use that tone…” It’s an admission of guilt if ever there was one.

With a huff, Viktor slides from the bed to crouch on the floor, taking hold of Yuuri’s leg by the calf and heel before he even asks. “Mind if I...?”

Resigned, Yuuri leans back on his hands, and pouts. “Go ahead.”

It was only last summer- about a year ago -that Viktor got on Yuuri’s case about proper foot care. Back then, they were in Hasetsu and only friends, mutually pining for each other, and just as mutually stupid about it. It seems silly now as Viktor gently brushes his fingers over Yuuri’s foot, testing the muscles and the tightness of the skin, searching for knots and areas of pain. They’re together, so that’s an improvement, but they’re still just as stubborn and often just as dumb.

And Yuuri still doesn’t treat his feet like the precious assets that they are.

“Ow.” Yuuri says, though it’s more of a token reaction to get Viktor to smile than anything else. “What do you think, Coach? Will I live?”

 

“Yes, I think so.” Viktor takes Yuuri’s foot in both hands and presses against the top with this thumbs, the arch with his fingers, applying just enough pressure to get a real _hiss_ from Yuuri. “But you’ll need a massage.”

Yuuri groans, because it means a change in his plans, and he’s not exactly the most patient person in the world. “Can’t we just put a bandage on it?”

“No. And I’ll do both feet.”

“Vitya,” he whines, though he doesn’t mean it.

“Coach’s orders, my darling. _It can’t be helped.”_ Viktor looks up to catch the smile that comes with that phrase. It’s one of his favorite Yuuri phrases, and one of the ways they justify nearly every indulgent thing they do.

“Fine. But I get to give one back.”

Viktor thinks to argue, but has to admit that it’s only fair, bending down to kiss the knuckle of Yuuri’s big toe. “Fine,” he says with a little sigh, then offers his hand. “Help me up, and I’ll help you to the bathroom.”

Yuuri takes his hand without hesitation. “Okay.”

 

Everything they need is in the master bath. Viktor sits criss-cross on the rug in front of the wooden chair where Yuuri has his bare legs stretched out for him. His grass-stained jeans are laid out on the top of the hamper for Viktor to scrub out later- doing laundry is something that makes him happy -with Viktor’s trousers draped next to them. They both keep the rest of their clothes on. For now.

That’s part of the fun.

Viktor takes his time washing Yuuri’s feet with water from the shallow wash bin and hand towel. Neither of them say much, with Viktor so focused on his task and Yuuri so focused on Viktor. His long, slender fingers are careful and precise. Yuuri isn’t delicate, and he knows this, but this part of the process is a ritual for him. He’s not exactly a religious person, and he doesn’t really feel comfortable saying so out loud, but this worship makes sense to him… like he’s simply paying tithes and showing his gratitude for the blessing of having Yuuri in his life.

He’s sure that Yuuri would be embarrassed to hear that, so he’ll never tell him. Yuuri probably knows anyway.

The foaming antibacterial soap that he uses causes Yuuri to wince, but Viktor’s careful touches soothe him. Viktor rinses him off and pats both feet dry with a clean towel before moving on, picking up the tub of salve and removing the lid. “I can paint your nails, too, if you like.”

Yuuri laughs, and takes the ring Viktor offers, testing it on his fingers until he finds the right fit. When he does, he wiggles them at Viktor to show off the glittering light, smile wide. “I think I have enough bling, thanks.”

If they were still in Hasetsu, though… perhaps.

Viktor shakes his head and gets into it, dipping the tips of his fingers into the white cream, then brings it to the injured foot resting in front of him. He starts with the ball of Yuuri’s foot, the pads of his fingers pressing into the skin and muscle to find the bone and apply a steady, rolling pressure. The salve lets his hands slip right against his skin, and there’s something in the slow friction and the heat that makes them both feel hazy- even more so when Yuuri lets out a sigh and a soft, low moan.

He’s not usually all that vocal, but he is for this. He knows that Viktor loves it, that it works him up. And Viktor, knowing that _Yuuri_ knows that he knows, makes it a point to draw out as many of those delicious sounds as he can. Those years at the ballet academy may have served him well in his skating career, but the foot massage techniques he learned and practiced with his fellow ballerinas are a godsend now.

Careful to avoid the surface injury, Viktor works out the stress and tension in each of Yuuri’s toes, his arch, his heel, his ankle, and all throughout the top. When he’s done with that foot, satisfied that everything feels loose and relaxed, he moves on to the next, giving all the same care and attention.

Yuuri leans back in the chair, head tilted to one side, and hums with a smile on his flushed cheeks. He looks _hungry._ “Do I get to have my turn yet?”

Technically, it should be. Viktor’s gone as far as to start working his way up Yuuri’s ankle and calf, but it doesn’t stop him from pouting at the question anyway. “No.”

“But you’ve massaged everything.”

Viktor slides both hands up to Yuuri’s thigh, stretching over to kiss his knee, then pulls back, lifting his foot to cuddle it against his cheek. “But I’m having fun.” The frown from his fiancé does nothing to stop him from nuzzling his ankle, and in fact only encourages him to start cooing. “And your feet are so cute.”

“Vitya, come on,” Yuuri says, though he’s trying not to laugh.

 

Viktor sets Yuuri’s foot on his knee and pinches his big toe between index finger and thumb, giving it a little wiggle. “This little piggy went to market- to buy kasha, I think. And this little piggy,” he moves on to the next toe, giving it a little pinch and wiggle, too. “Stayed home to dust the house.”

Yuuri snorts, covering his mouth.

“This little piggy had roast beef,” Viktor stops at Yuuri’s middle toe, looking up at him with a smile. “With mashed potatoes. Remember when we made them with whipping cream, Yuuka?”

“I do.”

“Those were so good!”

“They were!”

He moves on. “And this little piggy had none, because he’s on a diet for skating season.”

Yuuri frowns. “So much for potatoes.”

“Moderation, Yuuka. That’s all. And this little piggy...” Viktor takes Yuuri’s last toe, then leans down to kiss it, soft and sweet. “Cried whee-“ _kiss “-_ whee-“ _kiss_ “-whee-“ _kiss_ “-all the way home, because he knew his fiancé was waiting for him.”

“That’s a really cute story, Vitya,” Yuuri says over the barrage of kisses from his giggling fiance that follow. “But I’m pretty sure that it’s really about pigs being fattened up to be slaughtered and taken to market.”

The kisses stop at once and Viktor looks up at him with a pout. “That’s not cute or romantic at all.”

Yuuri shrugs. “Sorry.”

“Fine.” Viktor sets Yuuri’s foot down and reaches for the box of bandages.

“Your version _was_ nicer, though!”

“I should have known better,” Viktor says, finding a plaster. “In Russia, we use one with magpies, instead. I was just trying to be cute.”

“Oh? Well let’s try that one, then. With the magpies.”

“No.”

“Vitya…”

“Nope. You ruined it.” He applies the plaster to the blister, then crumples the trash, tosses it in the bin, and shuts the box. “Tada. You’re cured. It’s my turn, now.”

Yuuri looks down at his foot and touches the bandage. “Aw. But now this one’s going to be lonely.”

It only takes a few seconds of Yuuri’s pout for Viktor’s resolve to crumble and, grumbling, takes hold of the ‘lonely foot’ with both hands. “Fine.”

“Yatta!”

“This is really for hands, but I’m adapting it. Let’s see, English…” Viktor hums, circling the pad of Yuuri’s foot with his thumbs. “Magpie, Magpie, boiling kasha to feed to the little ballerinas…”

“Ballerinas?”

“Mama also went to Vaganova. She had a sense of humor.” Viktor continues, tapping Yuuri’s big toe. “She gave some to this one,” he wiggles it, then moves down the line. “And she gave some to this one. She gave some to this one, and also to this one. But!” He stops at the last toe, pursing his lips. “She did not give any to this one.”

“No?”

“No.” Viktor shakes a finger at it, putting on his best Lilia impersonation. “Your dégagés are sluggish! You keep locking your knees! And your free leg-”

“Is sloppy?”

“Sloppy! There is nothing for you!” Nevertheless, Viktor wiggles the little toe at the end, and bends to kiss them all before looking up at Yuuri with a big smile, leaning on his elbows. “There. Better?”

“Much. Thanks.” Yuuri strokes Viktor’s cheek with his foot, toes pointed in faux _en pointe_. “Are you really going to let me return the favor?”

Viktor steals a few more kisses while he mulls it over. He’s a little finicky when it comes to that, but Yuuri’s such a good sport, and so sweet that it’s hard to say no. “I guess.”

“Good.”

 

They retreat to the bedroom once the medical supplies and lotion are put away, the towel joining the rest of the clothes on the hamper. It isn’t discussed, just understood. Yuuri’s impatient, and there’s no sense in getting his feet lathered if Yuuri is just going to pounce him the moment he starts moaning. Viktor crawls onto the bed with this in mind and gets comfortable while Yuuri joins him.

“Yuuka.” Viktor sighs, stretching an arm above his head, then folds it behind his neck. Propped on the pillows, his line of sight is straight down across his white collared shirt, past his heather grey hi-cuts, his bare legs that are perfectly smooth, to Yuuri, who kneels at his feet, and begins his careful caressing. “What are you doing?”

“Massaging your feet?” Yuuri suggests, though when Viktor’s expression doesn’t change, he tries again with a hopeful grin. “Promising them that I’m going to get them some new Jimmy Choos soon?”

Viktor makes a face. “That’s nice, but aren’t you going to do a Japanese counting game?”

Yuuri’s hands come to a stop. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Okay… Uh…” Yuuri considers a moment, squeezing the tips of Viktor’s toes with both hands until he’s squirming, then claps his hands together. “Sa-ka-na ga hanete _pyo-n!”_ he sings, clasped hands first dovetailing back and forth until the onomatopoeia, when he raises both arms above his head in a cheer- “A tamani ku-ttsu-i-ta bōshi!” -and ends with his hands on top of his head.

Viktor blinks, both confused and overwhelmed by the charm of his ridiculous fiance. At no point does Yuuri touch Viktor’s feet, even as he goes through three more verses, pantomiming glasses, a mask, and then patting his stomach- at which point Viktor stops him. “Yuukaaa!”

“Eh?”

“My Japanese is a little limited, but is this about a fish?” Viktor asks.

“Oh. Yeah. It is.” Yuuri’s sheepish grin falters at the frown from across the bed. “B-but it’s not about Chihoko! Don’t worry!”

“...you didn’t even touch my toes, Yuuri. There wasn’t any counting, and I don’t get how a fish is supposed to become a hat.”

Yuuri laughs, running his hands over the tops of Viktor’s feet from toes to ankles, up and down. “It was the best I could do on short notice,” he explains. “We don’t really have nursery rhymes about toes… it’s a cultural thing.”

With the emphasis on the genkan and house slippers, it shouldn’t surprise him. The feet are the lowest point. Viktor pushes up onto his elbows, resting his cheek on his shoulder to watch Yuuri’s careful ministrations. “Is it weird, then? To be doing this?”

“To be massaging the feet of Viktor Nikiforov, the greatest figure skater that ever lived?”

Viktor snorts. “Yuuka.”

“Who is also my lover… my best friend…” Yuuri takes one of Viktor’s feet in his hands- those careful, piano-playing fingers gently angling his heel like it’s delicate glass. He kisses his toes, softly, lips barely touching his skin. “My Vitya…”

It’s already almost too much, and Viktor bites his lip. His unoccupied foot’s toes curl into the sheets like his fingers do, and he nods, urging him to go on.

“And of course,” Yuuri continues, kissing up to his ankle. “My sweet…”

Viktor holds his breath. Perhaps it’s not Yuuri that’s impatient, but himself. Each kiss is a firebrand, and every word has his body arching ever so slightly, tugging toward him like a marionette on a string. He’s helpless. So utterly helpless. And if Yuuri uses _that_ name on him, oh God, heaven help him!

Yuuri kisses up his shin _oh so slowly_ , deliberately holding it out, making Viktor squirm while his hands hold his feet steady, circling the balls of his feet with the pads of his fingers. Viktor’s a little ticklish; so it’s a safety precaution than anything. “Most precious…”

“Yuuuukaaaaa!” Viktor whimpers. He’s already at his limit.

“Usa-chan,” Yuuri finishes, and kisses Viktor’s knee once for good measure before backing away to avoid the kicky feets and giggling that follows.

It’s not _the name,_ but it’s a good one, and Viktor still can’t handle it as he reaches for him, writhing. “Yuuka! My Pyatachok! Come here!” he cries between his fits of laughter. “Kiss me!”

Yuuri doesn’t need to be asked twice, crawling to settle on him and kiss as requested.

 

Kisses from Yuuri, with a hand at his cheek, and the other at his ribs, are all Viktor ever needs. There’s something about the weight of Yuuri’s body on his, and how his lips know his so well- able to work them apart and get him to keen with so little effort -that drives him wild. When Yuuri takes his hand to slip his ring back on his finger, Viktor feels that longing ache again. As much as he wants the world to _know_ that Yuuri is his and that he is Yuuri’s, to share and proclaim and flaunt it... he doesn’t want this to change, either.

It’s perfect like this. They don’t need anything else.

They have each other, and no one could ever understand either of them as well as they do. Which is perfectly fine.

Viktor’s happy like this.

He’s so happy.

“Ah- itta-taa!” Yuuri breaks away to hiss again, reaching back to untangle his leg from Viktor’s, holding his ankle up. “Sorry, Vitya, ow.”

Viktor laughs, fingers still playing in his lover’s hair, and sighs, lying back against the pillow. “Switch?”

“Maybe… yeah.”

“Okay~”

They’re perfect, any way they are.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *NLA, aka Never Look Away, is series novelization of Yuri!!! on Ice written by Mamodewberry and myself, which can be read [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8997835/chapters/20547385) It focuses on filling in the gaps between scenes and episodes with a heavy emphasis on Viktor's perspective and backstory.
> 
> also: please listen to [_Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me_ as performed by She & Him](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tx7IWsVuKs8) now that you're done... I listened to it 50,000 times while writing this.


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